Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Somewhere inside the house, the music gets kicked on. It’s country, of course, since we are in the South. I don’t know a single soul who listens to anything else, if you don’t count that heavy-metal-looking dude, but I don’t think he’s from here.
I reach for a plastic cup and pour myself a beer.
I’m standing around in the same position, wondering why the hell I’m still standing in the same place when I should be mingling and talking to people I used to know. I should be laughing and whooping it up. I am by no means shy, nor am I a wallflower. But for whatever reason, I’m not drawn to socializing at the moment and just content to observe.
I’m on my second beer when Tess approaches the keg empty-handed. It takes me a few seconds for my brain to register that it’s her. The hair she had up in a ponytail is down, falling into long, dark waves around her shoulders.
She lifts a hand and tucks a strand behind her ear, and I notice she’s wearing large gold hoop earrings that catch the light. Not a lot of makeup, but her lashes are long and inky black and her cheeks are rosy. Glossy, plump lips.
Tess is much taller than I remember her being when we were younger, and I look down to see that she’s not wearing high heels. She’s wearing flip-flops, and her toes are painted bright pink.
She catches me looking and wiggles them.
“Hey, stranger,” she says with a smile. “Come here often?”
It’s a classic pickup line everyone is familiar with. Although I know Tess is just being friendly and not flirting.
At least I don’t think she’s flirting with me. It’s hard to tell by the pleasant expression on her pretty face.
There, I said it. Tess is pretty.
My friend’s little sister is real pretty.
“I do not come here often.” I laugh because we both know I haven’t been home since our Christmas break, which was less than thirty-six hours since we played in the Tortilla Bowl, a game in sunny Arizona. “Would you like a beer?”
She nods with a wry smile. “It’s not my favorite, but if it’s all my brother has to offer, sure. I’ll take a beer.”
“It is all he has to offer.” I laugh again, reaching for the hose or spigot or whatever you wanna call it.
“I think the budget for this gathering was nonexistent,” Tess provides as she takes the red plastic cup from my hand.
“He must be saving his money for the bachelor party tomorrow night. You know how that goes,” she says. “All you bros buying their bro the next round and trying to look cool.”
“Bros buying bros beer.” I lament. “Actually, I don’t. I’ve never been to a bachelor party before.”
Her eyes get wide at my confession.
“What? Are you serious? You’ve actually never been to a bachelor party before?”
“No, ma’am. None of the guys I hang around with at the moment are even engaged. Only a few of them are dating.” I lean back against the porch rail, crossing my legs at the ankles. “Guess most of them are saving themselves until we graduate, although I reckon that sometime soon at least one of my older brothers will get engaged?”
I phrase it like a question, saying the words out loud for the first time. I don’t like to think about my two older brothers getting engaged, then married, then possibly having kids—do they even want kids.? We don’t talk about it often, but it popped into my mind for whatever reason. Shit, even Drake could get himself hitched in the near future.
“Let me paint you a picture, then, since you haven’t been to a bachelor party before.” Tess clears her throat and tosses her hair, and when she does, my eyes follow the long hair spilling over her shoulders and down to her breasts. “Picture a raunchy version of a fraternity party,” she tells me as I raise my eyes back to her face. “Men acting just as dumb but with more spending money, daring each other to do dumb shit, like go up to a woman for cash—for the groom of course—or drinking themselves into oblivion. Or they just go golfing.”
“So either they go out and act stupid or they go golfing?”
“Mostly acting stupid. Driving the golf carts too fast or tipping them. Grady was at a stag party last year and someone drove the cart into the pond. They were blacklisted after that and can’t return.”
Huh. “I didn’t know Grady golfed.”
To be fair, a shit ton of my buddies actually do golf in their downtime. But I didn’t know my friends from back home did. Maybe tomorrow morning we can take in nine holes…
“He doesn’t.”
Nevermind, then.
“So what about you?” I ask. “What are you doing in town?”
“Here for the bachelorette party.”